The Copper Frame (18 page)

Saxon spent fifteen minutes explaining his idea in detail.

chapter 22

It was still fairly early in the morning when Saxon got back home, only a little after ten. He placed a phone call to Tony Spijak's home in Buffalo.

He caught the bookmaker just as he was leaving the house. Spijak said, “A minute later you'd have missed me. I'm surprised to hear from you. I thought you'd be full of ice-pick holes by now.”

“The only damage at our meeting was to Cutter,” Saxon said. “And that wasn't much. Just a bruised jaw.”

“You clipped him? You never had any sense, Ted. You better keep one eye over your shoulder for a while.”

“He isn't all that tough,” Saxon said. “What I'm calling about is that I want to get in touch with the man, and he isn't listed in the phone book. I assume he has an unlisted number.”

“Yeah, he has.”

“Think you can get it for me?”

“It's in my little black book. Hang on.”

A few moments passed, then Spijak said, “Maxwell 7-3204.”

Saxon jotted the number in his notebook. Then he asked curiously, “How do you happen to have his number, Tony?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“Are you tied in with Cutter in some way?”

“Nope,” the bookmaker said cheerily.

“It's kind of important for me to know,” Saxon said. “I was going to ask another favor of you, but I can't if you're on Cutter's team.”

“I'm not on his team. I don't give a hoot in Hades what happens to the guy.”

“Then how come you're so friendly with him—you have his unlisted phone number?”

Tony Spijak laughed. “If you have to know, he likes to play the ponies. I'm his bookie.”

“Oh,” Saxon said, surprised that a man whose fortune had been built on the gambling fever of others had a touch of the fever himself.

“What's the other favor you want?” Spijak asked.

“Later tonight I may want you to phone somebody and deliver a message. It'll be some time before I'll know just when I want the call placed, though. Is there any way I can get in touch with you on short notice?”

“Sure. Marie's my answering service. I'll be moving from spot to spot, but she always knows where to reach me. Buzz her and you'll get a call back from me within ten minutes.”

“Fine,” Saxon said. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Any time, old buddy. Keep looking over your shoulder.”

“I will,” Saxon said, and hung up.

His next call was to police headquarters.

When Sam Lennox answered, Saxon said, “This is Ted, Sam. Is Vic Burns on duty?”

“No. He comes on the second trick.”

“On the desk?”

“Nope. Patrol car.”

“Thanks,” Saxon said. “I'll try his home.”

There was no answer at Burns's bachelor apartment. Saxon phoned Lennox back.

“Vic isn't home, Sam,” he said. “Will you ask him to call me this evening? Not before eight, because I'm taking Emily out to dinner and won't be home before then.”

“Sure, Ted,” Lennox said. “I'll tell him.”

Saxon spent a good part of the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon practicing a voice imitation. When he got to Emily's apartment at four o'clock, he tried out the imitation on her.

“Who does this sound like?” he asked in a thin, reedy voice.

She burst out laughing. “It's pretty close to Adam Bennock.”

“Just pretty close? It has to be better than that. Guess I need some more rehearsing.”

With Emily as a critical audience, he did some more practicing, adjusting his voice up and down at her suggestion until she decided he was perfect.

“You could fool his own mother now,” she said finally. “What's the purpose of all this?”

“A nasty scheme I've dreamed up. Now I have to know if Bennock plans to be home this evening. Have any ideas as to how I could find out and not make him suspicious?”

“That's simple,” Emily said. “He's on my list of patrons for the hospital charity ball next month. I'll phone and ask if I can drop off his ticket and pick up his contribution tonight.”

When she phoned, the mayor assured her he would be home all evening.

There was nothing further Saxon could do to put his plan in operation until that evening. He took Emily out to dinner, and about seven-thirty stopped in front of Adam Bennock's house long enough for her to run in with his hospital ball ticket. Then he drove her home and got home himself just before
8 P.M.

At exactly eight the phone rang. It was Vic Burns.

“Can you drop over here, Vic?” Saxon asked.

“Sure, Ted. What's up?”

“I have a little police business for you. Tell you when you get here. Who's riding with you?”

“Nobody. We're short-handed tonight, so I'm riding alone. Will this take long?”

“It might. Better tell the desk to phone here if you're needed.”

“Okay,” Burns said. “See you in about fifteen minutes.”

While waiting, Saxon went upstairs and clipped the holster of his short-barreled Detective Special to his belt beneath the suit coat. He was starting downstairs again when he had another thought. Turning around, he went into the room that had been his father's and took a similar holstered gun from the top bureau drawer. Removing it from the holster, he replaced the holster in the drawer and carried the gun down to the basement. He was still there when the doorbell rang.

Slipping the second gun into a side pocket, he went upstairs to let in Vic Burns.

It hadn't snowed now since the Saturday night storm, and the stocky lieutenant wasn't even wearing rubbers. Saxon took the heavy uniform overcoat and gold-shielded cap and hung them in the entry-hall closet. Then he led the way into the front room and offered Burns a chair.

When the lieutenant was seated, Saxon handed him the mug shots of Grace Emmet.

Burns examined the pictures, read the data printed beneath them, and handed the sheet back. “So that's the gal who caused all your trouble, eh? Where'd you get the mugs?”

“From the Erie police.”

Burns examined the expectant look on Saxon's face with puzzlement. “You look as if you thought I should show some kind of reaction.”

“I forgot you'd never seen the woman in jail,” Saxon said. “She wasn't the woman in these pictures.”

“Huh?” Burns said blankly.

“Sergeant Morrison substituted another woman for Grace Emmet, Vic.” He explained how the frame had been worked and who was behind it.

When he finished, Burns emitted a low whistle. “Larry Cutter, huh? This is big stuff. What do you plan to do?”

“Frame him back. I'll never be able to prove the frame without getting my hands on Ann Lowry. And even then, I doubt that I could tie Larry Cutter to the frame, or prove any collusion between him and Adam Bennock. But if I can get Cutter, Bennock, Morrison, and the Lowry woman to come together voluntarily for a conference and catch them all together, we'll have evidence of the conspiracy.”

Burns raised his eyebrows. “How do you plan to do that?”

“You'll see in a minute. Your part will be to arrange the raiding party. But first let's see if we can set up the meeting.”

Going over to the phone, he dialed the unlisted number Tony Spijak had given him. A voice he recognized as that of Farmer Benton answered.

In his high-pitched imitation of Adam Bennock, Saxon said, “Mr. Cutter, please.”

A couple of minutes passed before Larry Cutter's voice said, “Hello, Adam.”

“How did you know it was I calling?” Saxon asked in the same precise, reedy tone. “I didn't say.”

Cutter laughed. “You have a kind of distinctive voice, Adam. The Farmer recognized it. What's up?”

“I think we'd better have an immediate meeting. And I think you had better bring along the sergeant and that girl.”

“Why?” Cutter asked, his tone suddenly becoming cautious. “What's happened?”

“I don't care to discuss it over the phone. Can't you guess?”

“Yeah, I guess I can,” Cutter said slowly. “But why do you want me to bring along the girl?”

“I thought we'd meet at my skating rink. It's right on the beach and the beach is absolutely deserted at this time of year. It seemed a convenient location in the event we have to make a decision.”

After a moment of silence, Cutter said, “You might have a point there. I'll phone Morrison right now. I happen to know he's not on duty. Expect us in, say, an hour and a half. It's almost eighty-thirty now, so we'll be there at ten. In case I can't reach Morrison, what's your number there again?”

“I won't be here,” Saxon said. “I'll have to get over to the rink to start the place warming up. The heat has been off since I closed for the winter in November. The phone there is disconnected, so you can't call me there.”

“Okay. I'll get hold of Morrison somehow. If I can't, I'll just bring the girl. I
know
where she is. See you at ten.”

When he hung up, Vic Burns was gazing at Saxon in astonishment. “Even sitting here watching you, I'd swear that was Adam Bennock talking,” he said. “I never knew you were such a good mimic.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Saxon said with a grin. “And I've been practicing.”

Lifting the phone again, he dialed Tony Spijak's number. When Marie answered, he asked if she would get in touch with her husband and have him call back.

“Sure, Ted,” she said. “Tony told me to expect your call. You should hear from him in a few minutes.”

It wasn't more than five minutes before the bookmaker called back.

Saxon said, “I want you to make a phone call to Adam Bennock down here, Tony. Remember him?”

“Sure. Bennock's Skating Rink. He's the mayor now, isn't he?”

“That's right. It's Miller 2-3101. Place the call person-to-person so that he knows it's coming from Buffalo. Tell him you're phoning to deliver a message from Larry Cutter. Tell him Cutter will be down to see him at the roller rink at ten tonight. You don't know why. You're just relaying a message. Don't phone him until nine-thirty, so that Cutter will already be on his way. I don't want Bennock to be able to reach him if he decides to check back. Got that?”

“Uh-huh. Suppose he asks who I am?”

“Make up a name. Bennock can't know all of Cutter's men. Don't pick someone who actually works for Cutter, because Bennock may be familiar with the voice.”

“All right,” Spijak said. “I don't suppose you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“When I see you,” Saxon said. “I really appreciate all the help you've been, Tony.”

“What have I done?” the bookmaker asked. “If you feel indebted, you can spring me for a beer next time you hit Buffalo.”

chapter 23

When Saxon hung up, Vic Burns asked, “Now what do you want me to do, Ted?”

“Get a raiding party organized and ready to move in at ten o'clock. I figure about six men can handle it. Are there two patroling in the other car?”

“Uh-huh. Chaney and Mark Ross.”

“You and I make four. Tell the desk man to call in two off-duty men to report to headquarters at nine-thirty. Chaney and Ross can pick them up there. Meantime you and I will stake out the entrance to Beach Road to make sure everybody's in the trap before we spring it.”

“Okay,” Burns said. Rising, he went to the entry-hall closet and started putting on his overcoat.

“You can phone the desk from here,” Saxon said.

“I'll use the car radio.”

“Oh. Wait until I get my coat and hat and I'll go with you.”

“I'll be in the car,” Burns said, opening the door and going out.

Saxon went upstairs for his coat and hat. When he got out to the police car, Burns was just hanging up the mike.

“Everything's set,” the lieutenant said. “The other car will meet us at the entrance to Beach Road with four men at a quarter of ten. Suppose I pick you up at nine-fifteen?”

Saxon slid into the front seat. “That's only half an hour. I may as well cruise with you until then.”

“Suit yourself,” Burns said with a shrug.

For fifteen minutes they cruised slowly about town. Finally Burns parked in front of a drugstore.

“I need a pack of cigarettes,” he said.

“I'll get them,” Saxon said, getting out of the car. “What brand?”

Burns was already out the other side. “I'm not crippled, Ted. Stay in the car.” He went into the store.

Saxon pushed the car door closed and walked over to the plate glass window. Inside Burns bought a package of cigarettes at the counter, then headed for the rear of the store. Saxon opened the door and stepped inside.

Burns glanced over his shoulder and his stride slowed. He paused at the magazine rack next to the phone booth and looked over the selection. Then he turned and moved back toward Saxon.

“Guess we'd better get going,” he said. “I thought you'd stay in the car to monitor the radio.”

“It hasn't been more than thirty seconds,” Saxon said mildly.

Back in the car they cruised for another fifteen minutes. Saxon finally said, “We may as well get to the stake-out point.”

Burns headed the car west toward Beach Road.

Beach Road was only a block long, starting at Lake Shore Drive and ending at the northernmost of the three municipal beaches. A quarter of a block down the street from its entrance, on the opposite side of the street, was a filling station, now closed for the night and with only a single night light burning inside it. When Burns parked behind it and cut his lights, they were shrouded in darkness, yet they could see headlights approaching from either way along Lake Shore Drive. As there was a street lamp at the intersection of Lake Shore and Beach Road, they would also be able to get a clear look at any cars that turned in there.